In July, both my wife and I contract the illness the health crisis is centered on, and we are taken to the local hospital. However, because I have complications, it is decided that I need to be transferred to a larger hospital with a pulmonologist available.

I am transferred by ambulance to the bigger hospital where there are staff waiting to admit me. I am on a stretcher with various medical staff around me. There is one nurse doing transfer paperwork for me.

Nurse: “So, do you prefer to be called Dave or David?”

This question has me puzzled.

Me: “My name is John!

Nurse: “Oops, I really must check the paperwork properly!”

In the early 1980s there was an iconic commercial for Miracle Whip sandwich spread where a guy knocks on the window of a closed grocery store with an empty jar of Miracle Whip begging to come in.

In 1984, I’m in college and a new grocery store has been built in our town. My roommate and I want to get groceries and thought the store was already open; it turns out the store does not open until tomorrow. On this particular day, we see there is obviously an all-staff meeting happening just inside the floor-to-ceiling front windows. My roommate and I seize this rare opportunity.

We return home and grab a jar of Miracle Whip from the refrigerator and head back. When we return, we see the entire staff standing circled around one individual who is speaking.

BANG! BANG! BANG! We knock on the window hard.

My friend holds up the empty jar of Miracle Whip as I pantomime begging. Ten seconds later, we run away.

A few years later, I’m done with college and get a job for the same grocery chain in a nearby city. After working there a few months, I share the story with my manager. He looks at me as if stunned and says, “You’re the Miracle Whip Guy!”

He tells me that he was there that day — as were managers from other nearby stores and representatives from the head office, all listening to an inspirational speech by the CEO of the company — when I banged on the window.

He said they all had a good laugh and thought it was a good, timely prank.

I work in a pack and ship store. I’ve just finished getting a customer’s shipping information. She’s been going on and on about not wanting to spend a lot of money on shipping.

Me: “All right, your least expensive shipping option is going to be—”

Customer: “Hold up right there! I don’t want no ‘least expensive’! I want the cheapest!”

Me: “Okaaaay, the ‘cheapest’ I have is—”

Customer: “—and you’d better give me the cheapest! I don’t want no least expensive; you’d better not give me least expensive!“

Me: “Oh, no, ma’am, I won’t. The cheapest is [price].”

Customer: “Good girl! Good listening! I’ll take it! No ‘least expensive’ for me!“

My wife and I are from Manchester, England. We’re doing a mini world-tour as part of our honeymoon. We are in Iceland and visiting a natural hot spring. The place is amazing, basically, a large pond pouring with steam, a river running next to it also pouring with steam and then a load of smaller bubbling pools of water and mini geysers that would blast water into the air every ten minutes or so.

Between the pond and the river there is a roped-off area of small, deep pools that has a sign:

Sign: “Warning water is over 90 degrees. Do not enter at your own risk.”

This is probably a bad translation of ‘no entry, we accept no liability.’

We’re leaning against the side of the pond closest to this and notice a guy wander up, read the sign then step over the rope. As he’s walking up to one of the small pools the lifeguard is running over and shouting.

Lifeguard: “Stop, stop! You can’t go in there!”

An American accent replies:

Tourist: “Whatever buddy, I paid, so I can do whatever I want.”

By this time the lifeguard has reached him and tries to explain to him.

Lifeguard: “That the water is between 90 and 110 degrees! You walked right past a do not enter sign.”

Tourist: “No, it says enter at my own risk, so I am, and it’s not very risky. It’s hotter than 90 degrees in Nevada every day!”

This utterly perplexes the lifeguard who has absolutely no idea what the h*** the American is talking about. So I shout over.

Me: “Oi, mate, it’s Celsius, not Fahrenheit!”

Now the American looks confused.

Tourist: “I don’t know what that is, I’m going in.”

For reference, 90-110c is 194-230f.

Then follows about five more minutes of arguing between the American and the lifeguard before the American has had enough and takes the two steps further to the pool, and goes to put his foot in. Fortunately for him but unfortunately for Darwinism he only manages to dip a toe before screaming in pain and hopping back to the changing room in a huff.

The lifeguard sighs and goes back to his chair.

Me: “What a f****** divvy.”

Many years ago, I owned a franchise tobacco shop. The one problem we had to handle almost daily were the prank phone calls.

You know the kind. Being a tobacco shop, we got literally hundreds of these crank calls, usually all the same. For the uninitiated, it goes like this:

Caller: “You got Sir Walter Raleigh in a can?”

For reference, Sir Walter Raleigh is the name of a tobacco.

Employee: “Yes, we do.”

Caller: “Well, you’d better let him out before he suffocates. HAW HAW!”

The callers are usually pubescent if not pre-pubescent and they always hang up before you can say anything in response. Now, this is before caller ID, so they feel rather bulletproof. 

Not in my store. 

My usual response is not to play along. We don’t, in fact, carry Sir Walter Raleigh Tobacco but just saying “No, sorry,” doesn’t seem enough. Sure, it shuts them down, and many times I try, “Oh, PUH-LEEEEZ! You are not really going with that tired joke, are you?” before hanging up.

We also have an import tobacco named Three Nuns which comes in a small tin of four ounces. So, every now and then I respond, “No, but we do have Three Nuns in a four-ounce tin..”

This usually gets us about fifteen seconds of dead phone before a click.

The best time we ever had with the little guys comes one lazy summer afternoon when there are no customers, there’s no work to be done, and our minds are alive with ideas. The phone rings.

Me: [Pipe Shop].”

The caller has a high, squeaky voice, a dead giveaway that this is NOT a serious call.

Caller: “Yes, sir. Do you have Sir Walter Raleigh in a can?”

Oh, no, you don’t, kid!

Me: “One moment.”

Before the kid can respond, I put the phone down and holler loudly across the store.

Me: “Hey, [Assistant Manager], we got Sir Walter Raleigh…” *dramatic pause* “…in a can?”

Assistant Manager: “Does he want the three-ounce tin or the fourteen-ounce can?”

Me: *To the caller* “Do you want the three-ounce tin or the fourteen-ounce can?”

Caller: “The fourteen-ounce can. Do you have Sir Walter Raleigh in a fourteen-ounce can?”

He feels that he has to repeat the key phrase for this to work.

Me: “One moment.”

Again, I set the phone down.

Me: “[Assistant Manager], he wants the fourteen-ounce can.”

I repeat the phrase, so that the kid can hear.

Me: “We got Sir Walter Raleigh in the fourteen-ounce can?”

Assistant Manager: “Aromatic or Regular?”

Me: *To the phone* “Did you want the Regular or the Aromatic?” *Playing the good salesman* “The Regular is the Red Label and comes in a fourteen-ounce tin, whereas the Aromatic is the blue label and has only twelve ounces of tobacco.”

The caller is becoming agitated now but strangely determined.

Caller: “Uhh. Regular. Do you have Sir Walter Raleigh regular in a fourteen-ounce can?”

Me: “One moment.” *Puts down the phone* “[Assistant Manager], he wants the Regular; we got any Sir Walter Raleigh Regular in the fourteen-ounce can?”

We are both stifling giggles now.

Assistant Manager: “Does he want the cross cut or the long cut?”

Aha, he’s getting creative…

Me: *To the phone* “Long cut or cross cut?”

The kid is nearing the end of his patience and is nearly shouting into the phone.

Caller: “EITHER ONE. DO YOU HAVE SIR WALTER RALEIGH IN A CAN?”

He’s like a broken record.

Me: “Okay, then let me get this right. You want the Sir Walter Raleigh, Regular — that’s with the Red Label — either long cut or cross cut, in the fourteen-ounce can, is that right?”

Caller: “YES! YES! YES! DO YOU HAVE SIR WALTER RALEIGH IN A CAN?”

Me: “Nope.”

I hung up the phone.

We would have loved to have seen the kid’s face after all that. We both broke down laughing so hard that security guards from the mall passing by had to come in and find out what was so funny.